


Hands

by rainytears



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Danganronpa Another 2 - Fandom
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Sexual Abuse, Sad with a Happy Ending, Short, Trauma, counts as ship if you squint, i 'm only good at hurt no comfort, i can't write the comfort in hurt comfort, mikado good??, nikei sad, self-projection, why r my works so shory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 03:19:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30116355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainytears/pseuds/rainytears
Summary: Nikei takes a mental trip back to his Hell, Mikado helps him back out.
Relationships: Sannoji Mikado & Yomiuri Nikei, Sannoji Mikado/Yomiuri Nikei
Kudos: 11





	Hands

The room around Nikei shook, seeming to quake with every pitiful sob that escaped his mouth. He could feel hands on him, all over him. He wanted it to stop, oh god how he wanted it all to stop. His thoughts jumbled together, words becoming incoherent concepts, foreign to even Nikei. The room was shaking, and there were hands all over Nikei. There were faces looking down at him, shamming love, telling him how kind they were, and how much of a good child he was. 

The dark seeped into his mouth. It gripped around his neck, pushing him down, making him small. As small as their glares made him feel. As small as he was when the only thing he could do was curl in on himself, hoping to stop the hands but only feeling them become more aggressive.

And the room still shook. Faster, faster, faster. Faster with each muffled sob he let slip, faster with each one he didn’t. Nikei tipped his head back, pressing his palm down onto his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he could. If the sounds woke somebody else up, they’d see him as inferior. Weak, pitiful, fragile. Everything Nikei couldn’t stand being.

Light seeped into the room, into Nikei’s eyes. A silhouette. A silhouette always meant more hands. More hands meant more marks and more tears as Nikei reluctantly looked in the mirror, fixing himself up for one or a few of his daddy’s ‘closest friends’.

Or a silhouette meant a belt. A bottle, maybe? A silhouette meant Nikei hadn’t been a good child. A silhouette meant Nikei was worthless, useless, a bad child. A silhouette meant Nikei had to beg, had to promise he’d be a good child, promise he’d stop curling up and making himself small.

"I’m.. I-I-I’m sorry, daddy.. P-Please, please, I promise I’ll be a good child. I’ll- I’ll- I’m sorry for screaming, daddy, please.. I didn’t mean to.." Nikei pleaded, eyes scanning the doorframe around the figure. The figure who was getting bigger - no, closer. Black hair, glasses. He didn’t think his daddy had glasses..? 

_ Oh. _

"Nikei..?" The figure spoke.

The figure wasn’t his daddy.

The figure was Mikado Sannōji. 

"I- M-Mikado.. Get out." Nikei tried to sound assertive, but his words came out a whisper, like he was begging. Like he was inferior. He was suddenly aware of how hard his heart was pounding, how every breath felt more rapid and shallow than the last. Worst of all, he was aware of how Mikado sat down next to him. 

Nikei was weak. They were all going to realise how weak he was. Mikado was going to tell the others, tell them how pitiful Nikei was. And they’d leave him. They’d leave him to give his Hell a revisit and they’d say "Thank fuck he’s gone. Thank fuck we don’t have to look at his disgusting face anymore."

He felt hands again. Hands, but different this time. They didn’t feel like his daddy’s friends. They didn’t push and grab, claiming what was there’s and what wasn’t Nikei’s. They wrapped around Nikei, securing him. They protected him from the hands.

His eyes lingered on the hands, trailing up their arms and to whoever owned them. Mikado stared at him, empathy - genuine empathy - coating his features. Nikei couldn’t help but burst into tears (again?).

The other man guided his head into his chest, whispering sweet nothings and promising Nikei’s safety. The usually stoic and false man showing what felt like genuine care for the boy. He didn’t look down on him. His gaze didn’t leave Nikei’s mind racing, wondering just how long until he was officially kicked out and sent back to his Hell. Back to his daddy, back to his friends, back to the hands, back to the mirror. Back to the silhouettes and the bottles and the tears, back to the incoherent screaming and shouting.

"You with me, Nik?" Mikado whispered, looking calmly at the boy - whose eyes flickered around the room momentarily before he hesitantly nodded. "You’re safe, love. I’ve got you."

Nikei felt his breaths become less shallow, choked sobs becoming less and less frequent as he buried himself deeper into the other man’s chest. His hands weren’t cold and intrusive like Theirs, they were warm and welcoming, promising that Nikei was safe. That Nikei wasn’t going back to his Hell. 

At one point or another, Mikado must’ve guided him into laying down, continuing to calmly talk to him. Nikei just gripped onto the other’s shirt tightly, taking in the feeling of safety, the idea that he was secure. 

In the morning, he’d deny this ever happened, threatening Mikado’s laptop if he told any of the others about this (and Mikado, laughing, would agree). For now, though, the two slept, comforted by one another’s prescence. A peaceful, dreamless sleep, rather than one full of memories from each of their Hells. 


End file.
